


Shop Demo

by polysyndeta



Series: Triumvirate [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Fix-It, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Phone Sex (kinda), Prompt Fill, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polysyndeta/pseuds/polysyndeta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How about the fact your boy walked in on us and gave himself the hairy-palm treatment instead of turning around and seeing himself out?"</p><p>Or: Harry and Merlin address the matter of Eggsy's voyeurism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shop Demo

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** _Established Harry/Merlin, Merlin teases Harry about how obviously fond he is of Eggsy and how Eggsy has the world's biggest crush on him. Harry thinks that Merlin is jealous and tries to reassure him ... but it turns out that Merlin wants and likes Eggsy every bit as much as Harry does and is all for taking the kid to their shared bed. Cue Eggsy getting seduced and ravished._
> 
> Probably not fulfilled to the fullest but I went with what felt right. Cannot actually get this onto the meme itself for the life of me at the time of writing.

"So what’re we gonna do about this, Harry?"

It’s an inauspicious start to any conversation.

"About what?"

"I dunno. How about the fact your boy walked in on us and gave himself the hairy-palm treatment instead of turning around and seeing himself out?"

Yes, he’d rather feared it would be that.

"He’s not _my_ \- " The lie sticks in his throat. He sighs. "I hardly see what there is to be done, Merlin. One of us might remind him of the value of discretion—"

"And that won’t seem a little hypocritical, y’don’t think?"

It would. He shifts on the bed, toes curling against the fresh cotton undersheet.

"What would _you_ suggest we do, Merlin?"

"I’m sure I don’t know, Galahad."

He does know, Harry thinks, the prick. He’s just allowing time for his lover to reacquaint himself with that fact before he gives up the goods.

"Found it interesting that you chose that one bed, out of the whole dorm," is the hideous, terrible, _apposite_ observation he eventually makes. Harry gives it the frosty silence it deserves until: "You want to fuck him."

"Of course I don’t _wan’ tae fuck ‘im_ ," Harry says, mangling Merlin’s accent in a deliberately obnoxious fashion that makes the Scotsman snort.

"You knew he was there just as well as I did. And you let him watch the whole performance because?"

"It would have embarrassed him to draw attention to the fact we could see him," Harry says. Lamely.

"So not as a shop demo, then." Merlin's tone has 'don't bullshit a bullshitter' written through it like a stick of Blackpool rock, and it's just as sweet.

" _Merlin._ Eggsy is - he’s..."

Whip-keen and razor-sharp and silk-soft in turn. Beautiful in repose and terrifying in action. As perfect an example of potential fulfilled as Michelangelo’s _David_ emerging from unworked marble. Harry feels for Eggsy in a way that he never did about Lee Unwin; perhaps it’s the guilt atop the pride. Eggsy has not only triumphed over adversity, but over adversity Harry feels that he himself inflicted upon him.

And he’s wanted to believe for so long that their relationship has evolved from mentor-protege to colleague-colleague, founded on the development of mutual respect and admiration, that his mind shies away from the possibility of it developing yet further.

But what is a Kingsman, he reflects glumly, if not true to himself?

He abandons the pretence in favour of more practical concerns.

"He’s far too young," he says, "and I’m far too old," as if that ever means anything to the bright young things Arthur sends him after because their profiling suggests they’ll be more interested in a sugar daddy than someone their own age.

"He didn’t seem to much care about that when he was breaking his cock off watching us."

It’s an exceptionally blunt truth.

"...Merlin, regardless of any...fancies I might have entertained, I don’t feel as though I’m missing anything by being precisely where I am." Harry glances sidelong at him. "Don’t you think you’re rather discounting yourself as an element in this equation?

"Do _you_ think I am?"

Harry blinks several times. "You." His eyebrows lift. " _Ah._ "

"Let’s see him run his cheeky fuckin’ mouth when he’s got both ends stuffed," Merlin says, with relish, and Harry _shudders_.

It ends up not being an issue for a long while. A Kingsman is either at home, at work, or checking into one of several international headquarters - of which Wrotham Park is only one. It’s not unnatural that several weeks might pass without the three of them being in the same place at the same time, and pass they do. Sometimes - when time and time zone permits - Harry arranges himself in front of a mirror in a hotel room and strokes himself slowly, his glasses projecting an image of Merlin doing precisely the same thing onto the glass in front of him.

 _"Saw your boy the other day,"_ Merlin says to him while he’s in Paris. He's naked but for his glasses. Harry rarely strips - tonight he's in white pyjamas, cock peeking obscenely from the slit in the trousers - but Merlin tends to be more _decadent_ about these long-distance encounters.

(On occasion he'll make his lover sit there with his hands on his knees and watch while he fucks himself with an exact replica of Harry's erection, a sight made no less erotic by the fact that he's never actually had a mould cast and hasn't the first clue how the damned thing came to be.)

Harry rolls his foreskin over the tip of his prick, pulls back down. Squeezes the exposed flesh with his other hand, coaxing out a pearly droplet of precome. "And?"

_"Still won't look me in the face. Asked after you, all the same."_

"What did you tell him?"

_"The usual. You worship the ground he walks on. Think he hung the moon. Wouldn't mind it so much if he sat on your face and rode your fuckin' tongue."_

The swerve from platitudes into filth is so sudden it leaves him lightheaded.

"I wouldn't mind that, would I?" But the way his hand tightens around his cock betrays him.

Merlin grins like a predator. _"So long as he asked beforehand."_

Harry laughs. It's strained. "If I ever get him to ask permission before doing _anything_ I'll retire a happy man."

 _"You're not that old just yet,"_ Merlin says. _"Turn around."_

He whines at the knowledge that it'll mean losing sight of Merlin but complies all the same, and Merlin rewards him by sitting on his hands until he's watched Harry work himself into a feverish orgasm with three slippery fingers buried in his arse.

Another month passes.

Finally, the planets align favourably.

"...be all for today. Galahad, Percival, Merlin's asked to see you both in the laboratory."

Harry's _oh, is that so?_ face is a put-on but the only person in the room who seems to notice (at least, to the extent that it warrants a marginally raised eyebrow) is Lancelot. He likes Ms Morton very well indeed and he appreciates that she's made such a good friend of her former classmate, but her observational skills are starting to worry him.

Regardless, he and Eggsy make their way to the white, sharp-edged space beneath the manor house that houses the prototypes and improvements of Merlin's various terrible, wonderful creations. Usually there's at least a handful of technicians there, bent over their work and rarely daring to make eye contact with an in-the-flesh Kingsman knight, but today it's only Merlin.

"Harry. _Eggsy_." The choice of name over codename sets the tone immediately, and he glimpses the change in Eggsy out of the corner of his eye. He's looking for escape routes. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you why we're all here. This has been tiptoed around long enough, don't you think?"

Eggsy sighs like a valve letting off months' worth of pressure.

"Yeah. _Yeah._ Look, I'm _so_ sorry I saw-"

"Are you sorry that you saw us or are you sorry that you got off on it?" Merlin's voice is casual enough but Harry understands that the distinction is important. If the incidence of desperate masturbation is what he regrets and doesn't want to explore further, they'll speak no more of it.

"I shouldn't have hung about and watched," Eggsy says miserably. "Not just cuz I wanted - look, I ain't told nobody, alright? Not even Rox. You know I'm not a grass."

Harry tilts his head. Is _that_ truly what he’s so worried about?

"Eggsy, there are no specific rules against fraternisation between colleagues," he says carefully.

"...oh."

Merlin takes up the baton: "Nor are Harry and I strictly exclusive."

" _Oh._ "

Harry sees a vista opening in his eyes.

" _So_..." Eggsy continues, and Harry is simultaneously relieved and amused to see a familiar glitter of mischief in his smile.

"Oh no no _no_." Merlin tuts, shaking his head. "This little chat isn't gonna end with you getting spit-roasted over a lab bench, y'understand? I have to work here."

Eggsy makes a quiet, animal sound. Harry observes Merlin carefully, sees the way his pupils dilate.

"Though perhaps we three had best have a conversation about how this situation might evolve?" Harry says, and watches Eggsy shrink an inch when his knees buckle. "Over dinner, maybe?"

"At yours?" Eggsy asks. His voice is smaller than Harry's ever heard it.

"At Merlin's."

"If I'm hosting you're cooking," is the only concession he demands.

Fine by Harry; his lover can't cook worth a damn anyway.

Most agents are surprised to learn that Merlin actually has a home to go to, in the same way that primary school pupils don't seem to understand that their teachers are fully formed human beings with homes and families and lives outside work. Merlin is admittedly failing on the latter two counts - as are they all - but on the first, he has a handsome residence occupying the top two floors of a Georgian mansion block in Knightsbridge. Harry makes dinner and they pointedly remain sober throughout the meal, drinking sparkling water even though Merlin has a selection of reds that Harry would deem passable.

Eggsy, though, he thinks might have benefited from _a_ drink. He's restless and anxious, though it only took a single pointed look to make him stop jogging his right leg under the table.

"I can understand you not being sure about this," Harry says when he returns from clearing their plates. "Merlin and I are...well, we're old enough to be your parents."

Eggsy scoffs. "'Round _my_ estate? You're old enough to be my _grand_ parents."

Harry can't conceal the way his face twitches in discomfort; it seems to have a sobering effect.

"Look, I don't _care_ ," Eggsy says. "You're both fit as fuck. I've wanted to shag both of you for...ages. Main problem was tryin' to work out who to make a move on," is his mumbled conclusion.

Merlin lifts an eyebrow. "You didn't just think you could try the other if the first wasn't game?"

"I do know you two _talk_ t'each other," he says archly, like his honour's been impugned, and Harry realises he wouldn't have wanted to hurt either of them by letting them think they were the second choice.  It makes his chest swell with affection.  (Merlin has the look on his face that he wears when he's handling the nominees' puppies and can't let on that he'd let each and every one of them lick his nose.)

They round off the meal with cups of black, heart-vibratingly strong espresso, and then Merlin instructs Eggsy to take a shower.

"I showered this mornin'."  Petulant.

Merlin is unmoved.  "And did you think this morning that somebody was gonna be licking your arsehole this evening?"

Eggsy dissolves into the space between atoms; the sound of the shower is heard above them, thirty seconds later.  Merlin chuckles and squeezes Harry's knee.

"Come along, Galahad."

By the time Eggsy's short walk from bathroom to bedroom has been heralded by a mist of steam, they've started without him.  More precisely: their clothes have been neatly hung up and they're lying naked together on the bed, propped against the headrest, hands wrapped around each other's cocks in a display of such blatant, ungentlemanly exhibitionism that Harry would swear unto the grave that it was Merlin's idea.

Eggsy freezes at the threshold, open-mouthed, and Harry sees an immediate and gratifying _twitch_ under the damp towel he's wrapped around his waist.  He takes a lurching step towards the bed as if his body is moving without his say-so, only to freeze when Harry lifts his unoccupied hand.

"No, Eggsy."

"Fucking _hell_ , Harry--"

"You didn't give us a choice in performing for you last time," Harry says with coolness he isn't feeling.  "So we're making one now.  Sit down."

Eggsy seems to realise that this is a test of some kind, and makes an unnecessary performance of dropping himself into the Chesterfield armchair at the end of the bed.

Merlin leans over to Harry and kisses him. It's as thrilling now as it was the first time. By then it had been years of clumsy handjobs between missions, quick hard fucks on a guest bed at HQ, and nothing further because that would qualify as _involvement_ and such men as themselves did not get _involved_.  But they'd been overgrown children then, pretending they knew what it meant to be to be Kingsmen.  Then in the autumn of 1984, Harry drank his first toast for the fallen Caradoc, found Merlin in the library, pushed him against European Military History and kissed him to within an inch of their lives.

Merlin was as responsive then as he is now: licking relentlessly into his mouth, tracing his lips and stroking his tongue.  They're both open-mouthed and breathing heavily, _consuming_ one another, mouths slick and filthy.  It's the sort of kiss they don't normally indulge in, except he can hear their guest almost hyperventilating at the foot of the bed and - yes.  It's worth the diversion from the norm.

Merlin's prick is stiff in his hand, his foreskin moving silk-smoothly over the rigid flesh with each slow pull.  Harry is strictly average (which has proven an issue in a target's bedroom precisely _never_ ) but Merlin is a sight to behold.  Not impractical, unwieldy porn-star proportions, but - close.  Decidedly more than a mouthful.  

Without careful practice, anyway.

Harry relinquishes his grip to roll Merlin's bollocks in his palm, feeling the delicate skin of his sac slide against his fingers.  Merlin's legs fall open and he curses against his mouth, hips arching; he's always been desperately sensitive there.

There's a soft, broken _"fuck me"_ from the end of the bed.

"Is that an invitation?" Merlin chuckles hoarsely, and Eggsy _whines_.  "Patience."

In some ways Harry's used to being watched.  The ratio of Kingsmen to support staff is something like 1:75 because not only does everything they use have to go from R&D to production to maintenance to disposal entirely in-house, but because every moment recorded by a Kingsman will be picked over for useful intel and performance review by at least two technicians they've likely never met in person.  Harry had to make his peace with knowing that someone like Amelia will be sitting at her desk in the Berlin office, carefully filtering out the sound of him eating out a mafia heiress so she can transcribe the conversation taking place in the next room.  Scanning the coded coordinates tattooed on a man's chest, adjusting for the rise and fall of Galahad's body riding his cock.  And so on and so forth.  

(The toilets and showers in the nominees' dorm are communal for a reason.  A Kingsman can neither expect privacy, nor take advantage of the lack of it in others.)

He is, however, not at all used to being watched like _this_.  Closely, and entirely by choice, by someone he desperately wants to come closer still.

"We really ought to take pity," Harry whispers, thighs clenching when Merlin squeezes at the tip of his prick.  "On ourselves, if not on him."

"Think he's suffered enough, do you?"

"I know _I_ damned well have."

Another moment of deep, spine-melting laughter, and Merlin (ambidextrous by practice) manages to keep working Harry's cock for every moment he spends fishing a tube of KY out of the bedside cabinet to toss in the direction of their third party.

"Your turn, Eggsy.  Sort yourself out."

"Oh fuck, _thank you_."  

He unhitches the towel - somewhat careful in using it to protect the leather beneath his arse, Harry's amused to note - and makes a thoughtless, shameless exhibition of himself.  Feet pinned on the footrest, back curved into a bow.  Cock ruddy against his stomach, balls and arsehole completely exposed.  Both of Harry's hands twitch reflexively, and he forgets one of them is still fondling Merlin's balls until he groans in agonised pleasure. 

They watch him turn the fingers of his right hand into a mess of lube and then - uncharacteristically - he falters.

"This is.  This is what you want, yeah?  You wanna fuck me?"

Harry can't imagine that they look like anything other than a pair of wolves eyeing a wounded deer, so the question is unexpected.

"Eggsy," he says, and Merlin generously loosens his hand so he can talk in full sentences.  "This isn't about what we want to take but about what you are prepared to give."

"Nothin' you're not up for," Merlin says.

"Oh thank _Christ_ ," Eggsy mutters, and shoves two fingers to the hilt with a fearlessness which suggests the prep is entirely for show. (And what a lovely show it is.  The way his hole puckers and clings to his fingers when he pulls, the stretch around his knuckles when he pushes, the wet sucking _noise_ of it.)

"Though I think only one of us will be fucking you," Harry adds, once he's found his voice again.

"This time," Merlin adds, and Eggsy's hips twist as his cock blurts precome onto his belly.

"Fuckin' - Harry, Merlin, _can't_ \- "

Merlin goes back to the drawer for a condom.

They get to Merlin flat on his back, Eggsy's breath stuttering and his toes curling as he lowers himself in reverse-cowgirl style onto the fat shaft of his prick, Merlin petting his hips and telling him how pretty he looks.  Harry straddles Merlin's knees and kisses Eggsy slowly, swallowing his moans.

Eggsy rides Merlin's cock as if he's done it a thousand times before. He does it like only a porn star or a gymnast ever could: bouncing obscenely, meeting Merlin's upward thrusts, his balls slapping against his arse.

They're both talkative.

" - that's it, you gorgeous little tart, take it all in, I know you can - "

" - you're so fuckin' huge, harder Merlin, I wan' it, fuck me, fuckin' wreck my arse, _fuck me_ \- "

"- so tight, but you take it so easy, you been practicing for this, eh? Pushing your fingers in your hole, splitting yourself open for us - "

" - I fuckin' have an' all, Christ, you dunno how long I - do anythin' f'you two - _please_ \- "

Harry, on the other hand, is quiet and focused. He strokes Eggsy's prick with his fingertips until he's begging - not for more, not to come, but to suck Harry's cock. Merlin growls below them and his hips snap up so hard as to almost dislodge their young lover.

Harry can't refuse. He shuffles back on his knees, lets Eggsy bow his head to the task of a sloppy, distracted blowjob that's all spit and tongue and artless enthusiasm. The boy is too busy being fucked to invest any skill but makes up for it with sheer passion, fisting his mentor’s prick and moaning between licks about how he tastes so fuckin' good, how he's wanked himself sore thinking about this, about how he can't wait for Harry to fuck him 'til he can't walk -

Harry comes on his face.

It's an accident but he doesn't mind _at all._ By then Merlin's already done, emptied into the condom with a shuddering groan.  They wrap their hands together, fingers entwined around Eggsy's prick, and make him come in thick spurts over Harry's stomach and Merlin's thighs.

They land on the mattress in a tangle of pleasantly stretched and sweat-damp limbs.  Several minutes pass as they catch their breath.

"Is this what you expected?" Harry asks eventually, and more cautiously than he'd like.

"Better," Eggsy slurs.

"No room for improvement then?" Merlin chuckles.

"Never said that."

"Good," Harry says pleasantly, "because I believe Merlin said some things about getting your arse licked. Roll over."

They wring another three orgasms from his panting, writhing, _eager_ body before they let him sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> To follow eventually: Double penetration! Fisting! 
> 
> ...yeah I'm basically just going to try and hit every H/M/E prompt that comes up and will fit into this continuity.


End file.
